


H2OVanoss - Drabbles, Short Stories, & One-Shots

by Jqck



Category: Banana Bus Squad, H2OVanoss - Fandom, Vanlirious
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gang AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jqck/pseuds/Jqck
Summary: Every drabble goes in here. <3





	1. Meet Me Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> MEET ME HALFWAY
> 
> The crew protecting Delirious from other gangs led to a battle. But it looked like he wouldn't be around to know if they win or lose.

The battle did not end. The constant clash of swords, the gunshots reverberating, the crumbling of buildings were so loud that Delirious could not hear his own heartbeats and breathing. The sky was supposed to be blue, but to him it was red. Just a shade lighter than his favorite jacket, something owned by someone else. The clouds dispersed to give way to something—an airplane, perhaps? Maybe Jesus himself? Everything was so loud. So violent.

Someone called for his name. Angry. He would have turned, but he did not have the energy. He could not even blink to clear the blood out of his eyes even if they stung. But he could feel one thing, fluid trickling down from his stomach, damping his clothes already sticky with sweat, carrying the life out of him. He deserved this. The crew had been protecting him for a long time, and now even their loved ones were at stake. They had said they would fight alongside him, always, but the moment his friends disappear from the next corner, Delirious could imagine that was the last moment he would see them alive. That the next time, he would see them bathed in crimson.

All because they hid Delirious from those monsters. He could not let that happen.

“You get away from him!” A loud crash rocked the ground, and screams tore what little serenity Delirious was having. Now, he could not hear his own mind think. He could not even die in peace.

A stun grenade snatched away his ability to see, not that his red world was a pleasing sight, but it was the only three remaining senses he had, no matter how crooked it had become. Now his hearing rang like wedding bells—that left him with one working sense: feeling.

A hand touched his cheek, and this time his heart raced. Always, always that spot, a thumb grazing cheekbone, fingertip shuffling eyelashes. He wanted to move, to open his eyes even though they were already open, to raise his arm to touch the person back, even if it means dying from releasing the pressure point of his wound. Just. One. Last. Time.  

A warm drop fell beside Delirious’s lips. And just like magic, his ears started sharpening, his eyesight recognizing colors aside from the flash of white. A black hair, a gray shotgun slung on the back, a strong jaw, his favorite red jacket, tears from beautiful eyes.

“Hey,” Evan said.

Delirious smiled.

He raised his bloody hand to touch his face, to feel something warmer than his blood, to be a lover before being a cadaver. Evan’s face crumpled when Delirious did that—he was always so grumpy.

“Don’t move anymore.”  
“I—”  
“I said don’t move anymore!”

Delirious giggled, but it turned to coughing, rust tainting his taste. “Evan,” Delirious made it sound so firm, so strong, as if his vision wasn’t tunneling, his breathing laboring. The man’s shoulders dropped, because he knew that tone. They both knew that tone of Delirious—it had a certain pull, a denseness of something important. It wasn’t good to hear in this situation, and Delirious realized that. “Thank you. For everything. I’d choose this life again if I could,” Delirious displayed a weak grin, “so meet me halfway, Evan.”

Evan was sobbing, but he nodded his pretty head. “I will, and it’s going to be a race.”

While Evan tried to gather Delirious in his arms, tears streaking his face, he called his name over and over again. But Delirious didn’t respond.

The battle did not end, but Delirious did. The world was so violent. He saw red, but it wasn’t blood in his eyes this time. He saw red with white stripes on it, and Delirious knew—he was in a peaceful place.


	2. Eye Colors and Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is, like, a creative writing practice so it doesn't have a plot or anything. Just point of view of Delirious and Vanoss. :) Enjoy!

His eyes presented a strangely accurate reminiscence of the depths of the ocean. When he wore white and faded jeans, I always instantly glanced at his eyes—because their vibrancy seemed to make all other colors washed out. 

And heavens, you should see them when he smiled. There was always a shock within me, a call to consciousness, as if testing if I were not dreaming. His eyes were like the flash of a camera—they were bright across my vision. But with his, they never went away. And I never wanted to look at any other else. 

Seeing him happy with me. . .it was messing with my mind and deceiving my logic. 

Because I never made anyone happy,

but here he was.

A ray of sunlight spiking a heavy gray cloud.

~~~

His eyes bore the color of my favorite oak tree after heavy rains. I liked his eyes, this hue, this shine. They were so simple—not in the sense that suggested minimalism but in a way that they seemed to wear purity and honesty. 

He rarely smiled, but I knew when he was suppressing it. His lips wouldn’t break into a beam, but his eyes would. They always let me know what the mouth and mind refused to tell. He rarely smiled, but once he did, it always made me drop everything I was doing and give him a peck on the lips. 

When he was sad, I would always sit by him and tell him the day I first met him. “You were some kind of coffee to me. When you looked at me, I had no choice but to sober up. Whatever the reason you’re looking at me that way seemed to carry a message that said I need to be focused enough to understand you. You still look at me the same way, after all those times.”

“Did you understand me? Whenever I look at you?”

“No, not always,” I answered, “but it doesn’t matter. I want anything you fancy and makes you happy.”

But it was me who was happy by just sitting there, elbows touching his, casually sipping tea as if I was not thanking the heavens for the life I had with him. 

For I never thought someone could still make me feel this important,

yet here he was. 

The storm after drought.


	3. What He Doesn't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr requested an angst story, and of course, I had to write H2OVanoss. <3 It's stillnotjack.tumblr.com in case some of you wants to follow me there. <3

Evan loved Jon.

Jon loved Evan.

But it seemed like the world held a grudge against them—their schedules wouldn’t meet. The two of them barely saw each other despite living under one roof. Jon’s shift would start around nine at night, and Evan would be done from overtime work at eight. They would see each other but only to kiss goodbye once again. In the morning, Jon would return and hit the hay, while Evan would get up a little past that point and prepare for work. 

But he would savor that one hour their bodies were bare and pressed close together, fingers intertwining with fingers, his nose nuzzling the tired man’s curly hair. The times that he considered skipping work so that he wouldn’t leave Jon’s side were too much in the morning.

The desire never won, though. Evan still had to pay bills and sustain this comfortable life for the two of them.

Those times Evan wasn’t overstaying in the office, he was out for a client dinner. And Jonathan wasn’t bothered by it—he understood. In the morning, Evan would feel Jon’s soft and warm lips settling at his nape and at his back, just right between his shoulder blades, before Evan would get up to prepare for work.

They did fix their schedule once a week so they could eat together, play games, or just cuddle. Because of their toxic jobs, they both needed each other to soothe their stuttering lungs and to stitch their bursting seams. Their time together felt like therapy, a salve to stinging wounds, a warm bath after a war.

But lately Evan’s clients became really demanding for meetings that he’d always arrive late to their date, or not arrive at all. Jon was alright with it at first, but a couple of weeks ago, on the night he and Jon were supposed to skate together, Evan’s boss gave him a big time client to negotiate with and Evan couldn’t say no or he’d be fired. 

He accepted it and told Jon. As usual, Jon said it was fine. But this time was different—the lack of punctuation or capital letter informed Evan how the text was a pretense. He knew Jon; he never missed a spelling or grammar even through texts—so Evan promised himself to skip work the next day and just take care of Jon all morning and afternoon. Run a bath and massage him. He’d like that.

By the time he and the client arrived at a restaurant, they tried out an expensive bottle of wine. When he took a sip, the sweet and bitter and sour took turns in giving wonderful flavors in his mouth. Everything was just in the right amount that he was wondering why its scent was still an explosion of sweet grapes. When he swallowed, a trail of flame traced a line down, down, down his throat that surprised him. And when it subsided, he craved for it once more. And once more. Then he was addicted. Evan and his client discussed the deal while their hands held crystal wine glasses where dark red liquid sloshed. 

In the end, they met each other’s conditions and shook hands to close the deal. Evan grinned as they parted ways—he let the client leave first so he could use the comfort room for as long as he liked. Once his client was out of sight, he rushed to it, head throbbing, stumbling on his toes, and puked his dizziness away. All the contents of his stomach—the steak, the addicting wine—looked like he was heaving his blood and his insides. He could only groan at the smell and the sight. With weak legs and arms, he flushed the toilet and tried to get up, but the floor kept tilting under his feet.

Or maybe he was just losing traction of the world—he didn’t know anymore. At the time, he didn’t care. So he stayed by the restaurant’s toilet for a long time, until he admitted to himself that he was drunk and texted his sunshine.

When the door of the comfort room swung open and Jon appeared before him, Evan had regrets calling him sunshine. His boyfriend had a blank face, but the stiffness of his shoulders, the embossed veins on his neck, and the sharpness of his knuckles as his hands turned into fists told Evan that he was in trouble. For one moment, Evan thought Jon would punch him—he flung his arms in front of his face when Jon walked closer. But he only grabbed Evan’s suit jacket’s collar, pulled him up, and dragged him towards the car. 

Oh, right. Jon never hurt Evan no matter how angry he was.

The ride home was drenched in tension; Evan saw how great Jon’s effort calming himself down—he would blink rapidly and it would be followed by a stuttering breath and a tightening grip on the wheel. But there were swerves that had Evan’s head banging on the window and had him fearing for his life.

At home, Jon carefully settled Evan on the couch.

But Evan didn’t want to see his boyfriend angry at him for this long so he tried to stand and reach for him, but his knees gave up on him and folded underneath him against his will.

Jon caught him and gently put him back to the couch once more, but this time, he had flaming words made of a raging tone.

“Can you just be fucking still just this one fucking time, Evan?”

“Sorry. I am so sorry, Jon,” Evan said, punctuated with a hiccup.

“I am so tired of chasing your schedule. I feel like I’m not your priority anymore. You always say sorry but you always repeat this.” Once, Evan thought Jon’s eyes were like the ocean, not because of its calming blue tint, but because no amount of emotions dulled the vibrancy of its hue, just like no amount of rain would dilute the ocean’s color.

But tonight, Jon’s eyes wore sorrow. And it was the dullest shade of blue there ever were.

”I-I didn’t know you’d get mad.” Evan raised an arm and tried to catch Jon’s fingers. “You always understood.” 

That made the other man seething, his nose flaring, his face red as if it was him who was drunk. Jon wrenched his fingers away from Evan.

“IS THAT IT?” Jon bellowed. “You did all of this because you think I’d understand? Guess fucking what? I don’t anymore, Evan. I don’t for a long time now. I put myself in your shoes and tried to see things through your point of view. But I couldn’t …” Jon paused, his chest pumped slow and heavy. “I couldn’t see, couldn’t understand why you’re leaving me alone every time we’re supposed to be together. I thought you love me.”

“Jon, no, no, no,” Evan rubbed his palms over his face, “don’t say that, don’t think that. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you with all of my heart. Please.”

“Evan,” Jon’s eyes flashed at him. “Do you know how many times I planned to surprise you with candlelit dinners? You don’t know, do you? Did you even see the wasted food in the garbage after those evenings we’re supposed to dine together? Did you even notice that we’re running out of whiskeys because I always drink them during those nights you didn’t choose me over other things? Then tonight, you drowned yourself with wine in a fancy restaurant with some fucking Bill Gates, while I tried not to cry when the doorbell rang because I knew it wasn't you. But it didn't matter anyway because I still cried because of how much I miss you. Why would you hurt someone who loved you so much? Why, Evan?” Jon wiped his tears with his sleeve, and ran towards the door.

Jon was right—Evan didn’t recognize how much he was falling short when it came to loving Jon. That one person who Evan cherished the most, who he imagined growing old with, who he imagined sitting on the other end of the table full of little kids, would be gone from his life—and the thought made Evan’s body ran cold. 

So he ran for Jon because something awful and unimaginable was chasing him. But after three houses, his vision swirled that he lost his balance. But he was so drunk to know if he was knocked out or he passed out when his face hit the ground.

In the morning, he saw he was taken care off—he was on his bed, meds for headaches lined on the bedside table along with a glass of water. Evan felt better—he was sure Jon came back if he was safe and cozy. But something was off, like playing the guitar with one mistuned string. So he checked the house and found out that Jon’s clothes were nowhere in their closet, even his shoes, his console, his toothbrush—everything was gone. Jon was gone too.

There was no trace that Jon lived here, except from the tracks of tears on Evan’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Free Of Colors Part 1/2

It was one year since he left, but I still look for him at home.  
  
Every corner, every shadow, every space, every surface—I try to find a trace of him. Is the bed sheet wrinkled on his side? Are the tissue papers drawn on? Is the ceiling free of spider webs?

  
This mansion is stuffed with things all houses are supposed to have, and more. So much more than an ordinary household could accommodate. Things I don’t need but I have. This house has been mine for almost seven years, but it wasn’t a home until  _he_  lived here.  
  
I see him everywhere. He was on the couch, curled, sleeping. His hair was the color of leaves during autumn, and it encased his freckled face in a tangled cushion. His fingers were originally in fists, but as he dreamed, they would loosen and weave together like braids. And I would hold them, carefully, like they were expensive cutlery. Sometimes he would open his eyes, confused at first, but once he saw me, he would press a palm on my cheek. I would lean into it. I always did.

“Good morning,” he would say.  
  
Sometimes he would retain his eyes closed, but he would tighten his grip around my hands and he would pull them close to his heart.   
  
Those hands—they were always full. He was always onto some chores. But when I played the strings, he would stop whatever he was doing. There would be a smile on his face as he neared me, the light of his eyes turning brighter and brighter as he edged closer, as if I were daybreak myself and he was witnessing dawn. But in total honesty, it was  _him_  who burns me. I am only a cigarette light. He is a wildfire. 

But how all of those could explain the way he walked towards me? He would be careful, as if we were only supported by a thin film of ice. A lazy upturn of the lips would always send me shivers. A step after a step. Quiet and calculative. He had the grace of a predator.

I was most definitely his prey. But what kind of story it was if the predator saved the prey? I was a walking shell. All day was a one-note song, save for the nights. Nights were dirges. Mourning melodies were my lullaby, as I was hoping that the sleep I was going to have would last for…ever. Until he entered my life, unwelcomed but so much necessary. It felt like all this time I haven’t been breathing correctly.

There was something about him that chased away darkness. When he tried to figure out why I was not myself, he would stare at me for a long time—his head tilting sideways, eyes narrowing and strictly perusing. Whenever he did that, there was this confidence on his face that whatever it was that haunted me, he could haunt it back. And he did kill it in me, the darkness. Even now, without him, the demon could not bring itself to guide me once more. 

He did so much for me, than I for him. I was incredibly aware of that that one time I said to him, “You don’t deserve me.”  
  
But his answer was something I could never forget, “It doesn’t matter. I found a refuge in you. Here.” And he tapped my left chest. “And you found one in me, too.” He tapped his.  
  
It is raining now. I stand in front of my bedroom window, and it rattles as the thunder expresses its anger. The lightning gives me a tantalizing glimpse of my reflection, but I don’t bother taking in how much I changed after he left. Especially when the storm reminds me of one of my most treasured moments with him. 

It was the first time he showed his face to me. 

We were walking at the park. He was wearing his clown make-up, I was…I don’t remember what I had donned. I just remembered him, and how I felt so happy by just walking by his side. He was giving balloons to children around, telling me it would be weird if he only wore the clown make-up. The day was alright—the wind was shuffling the leaves in a faint attempt of laughter but the sunlight was a shade lighter than its original intensity. We sat on a bench when the last string of a balloon was accepted by a little girl.  
  
“I need to tell you something, Jon.”  
“I do, too, actually. Can I be first?”  
I hesitated because I was frightened that I would change my mind if I waited longer. But he was quiet—peaceful even. As if whatever it was he was going to tell me would grant him freedom, so I nodded.  
“Can we wait for the rain?”  
When I looked, there were gray clouds dimming the blue sky. Not long after, big fat raindrops fell in a slanted force.

“Come on,” I told him. Instinctively, I searched for an overhang or anything as a substitute for a shelter. When I looked over my shoulder, he was still sitting on the bench, hands curling into fists on his damp lap, his hoodie pressing against muscle and bones, his eyes never breaking their hold with mine. He had this determined look that I could not decipher what for.

Until I saw rain washing off his veils. I just stood in the middle of the street, too astonished to move an inch. I was witnessing the melting of colors on his face. A waterfall of white, green, and red flowed on his face, and when his skin was free of hues, I was extremely surprised that the bright blue of his eyes was still there. He had two clear skies in his eyes, and they were incredibly vibrant and so. much. alive. 

Everything would have been so beautiful if he was not crying.   
  
I walked slowly towards him, and his lips trembled with every step I did. It killed me to see him like that, especially when my nearness was the reason he was shaking. But I can’t just… _not know_ how I had hurt him.

“What was that for?” My voice was soft—a miracle that it did not break when I saw more tears spilled from his eyes. I reached out both of my hands and held his face. I wiped all of streaks of tears, all smudges of make-up with my thumb, but no matter how much I tried, I could never erase his sadness.

“I-I want nothing to hide when it comes to you.”  
“But why are you crying?”  
“Because I—when you were running to look for a shelter, it looked like you’re leaving me. And,” a hiccup interrupted him. That encouraged sobs to escape from his mouth. Tears overflowed from his lids, and each one was a bullet to my chest. His breakdown was shattering me that I remember wanting to punch a tree, a wall–to break something before I break myself.

Until he finished his statement, in a manner so soft that I almost did not catch it. “It looked like you’re leaving me, and I don’t want that.” I paused to breathe, to process what I heard, to find his eyes and see love I long for.

Then lips touched lips. Hands gripped collars. Hearts finally, finally beat in sync.

I didn’t want to lose him, but I still did. It was one of the times that proved just because you badly want something, doesn’t mean you would actually get it. He said there were family matters he needed to fix. He said it would only be for a month. 

I waited for three. For nine more. I waited even at night. But he did not come back.

I’m waiting now. The other side of the bed remained unoccupied. Two plates and two mugs are still set at the table. The second controller of my gaming console is still fully charged. Before I retire for the day, I check if all doors are secured. But I am leaving the back door unlocked, just in case he returns to me tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is available on the next chapter <3


	5. Free Of Colors Part 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angst, a little suicide attempt, and a little sexy time but I didn’t put vulgar words so I think it’s still sfw.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for my writing style at the end—I don't think it's that creative. I still hope you enjoy!

I pluck all the petals of all the discarded flowers I see on the street, hoping that this time, they say different things. They still say he loves me. They still all say he belongs to me. But it has been two years, and I doubt that.

It is the day after Valentine’s day, and I awfully ache with all our memories I can only revisit. The distance did not make anything better. Nor the time spent away. I only aged, but I didn’t grow at all. I’m still the clown kid that gives happiness to others because he can’t find his. When he did, he left him. Now, he’s craving to have him back.

I can’t ever forget that day I walked out of his house. I only brought a few things, but my bag felt stuffed with rocks—the heaviness felt less like gravity and more like shackles to the ground. I regret looking over my shoulder to have one last image of him through the open door—he was leaning on the jamb, a hopeful smile plastered on his face as if he was thinking that I wouldn’t really go. 

But I took a step away from him. He tensed, detached himself from the door.  _Another step_. His smile vanished, eyes widened, skin paled.  _Another step_. “Jon?” asked confused Evan. It was only my name but it held a lot of questions I couldn’t answer without shattering the foundation we built. Before I drove away, I saw him sink deeper into the living room, looking lost in his own place.

I told him I had family matters to attend to, but we both heard the finality in my voice that night. We both knew there was something I wasn’t telling, and knowing Evan, he wouldn’t push the question—he would chose to trust that I’d be back for a month. That was what exactly he did.

All those time I was away, I rehearsed how I was going to explain why it took me this long. I  _knew_  I would take years in here, but I didn’t tell him. Why? 

Because he would blame himself. 

He always blamed himself even on things he could not control. I know Evan—there was something in him that convinced him that he was the source of chaos in this world. If I told him, he would say how stupid he was for not noticing the changes in me. He would say he should have seen the signs, even though I’d say that I myself didn’t notice. He would be angry at himself, for letting me take care of the chores. I would say I loved doing them because I do. Then he would not speak to me—he would shut his mouth before saying the last reason why he thought this was his fault. I would have to chase his eyes all day for it, and I would have to trip him from time to time because he would pace back and forth a lot—and he would still refuse. But at the end of the day, he would say it to me. There was never a time he didn’t.

“It happened to you because of me. I’ve been bringing you cursed luck since you lived with me.” That was the thing I was avoiding, the big chasm I didn’t acknowledge even though it was a huge gaping hole inside me. It would be silly to others, because people wouldn’t get the fact that  _I_ would be  _THERE_  when he says it. I would witness how he believed it, how he regret choosing this beautiful life over the ones where he didn’t  _‘drain’_  the life out of me. He would nourish the thought in his head that it would become harmful for him. Those brown eyes that wouldn’t meet mine, the breathing that took a lot to even, the rough hands that turned into fists to stop trembling …

So I lied—I had to lie. it would break me to see that. And in case I didn’t come back, there would be a bigger chance that he would see me at fault and not himself. 

I was sick. With something that hadn’t touched anyone before. I don’t know why it picked me to be its victim. I guess I reached my quota of happiness since I lived with Evan. If this is what I have endure to have the same amount of time and the same amount of bliss again, with him, so bring it on.

Though, it wasn’t easy.

I lost three of my senses during the process of curing. It was my hearing first. I smashed all the glasses in the ward but I couldn’t hear even one small shattering, nor my sobs when I pricked my soles with some. I visited the nursery, but the babies seemed having yawns so painful that tears flowed—but there was no wailing, nor hiccups. I spoke in front of a mirror and said words, rolling syllables of my favorite ones across my tongue. Wa-ter. S-kip. Hid-den. Ev-an. Keys. Laugh-ter. Child-ren. Ours. Bench. Park. Ev-an. Walk. Tears. Back. Leav-ing. Ev-an. Safe. But I didn’t hear even one hiss nor one mumble from myself. There was nothing but my thoughts—at first. Until creepy noises started bombarding me. They said it was normal, these auditory hallucinations. I was pretty sure I was getting crazy, because I had seven other entities in me, five of which telling me different ways on how to end my life and two of them informing me how I was always watched. They messed with my mind that one time I found myself staring at the road below me, at people like ants, at the cars like colorful skittles rolling across gray, the horizon crowned by a fake jagged tiara composed of gray skyscrapers. The wind was strong up there, that a few more seconds of not fighting the force back, I would come away from the window and fall right into the earth.

Then there was an eight voice, sweet and thoughtful. “Jon,” It said—pleaded even.

I knew it was his voice, that one call from him laced with worry and love. I knew it was all in my head, but it pulled me into sobriety. So what I did, I brought his thoughts into my battle and recalled all the times he called me by my name. “Jon, are you alright?” “Jon, I’ll wash the dishes tonight.” “Jon, don’t sleep yet.” “I can hear you singing, Jonathan.” Yes, you’re terrible, Jon.“ "No, don’t stop, Jonathan.” “Jon?” That kept me going. Hearing his voice, even from memory, warred other sounds my head made. 

Just right after I memorized lip-reading his name, in case one of the nurses came rushing and mouthing that I have visitor, I lost my sense of taste. It didn’t matter much, but it saddened me that I wouldn’t be able to have a taste of his lips, if he were to find me. He was always made of sugar, coffee, and bananas. But sometimes I tasted myself when I kiss him: salt, chocolate, tea, or avocado. But I don’t need this tongue to have flavors. Whenever I recalled leaving him that day, I always had that rusty aftertaste of defeat and regret that choked me until I couldn’t control sobs.

Then I lost my eyesight. I was at the garden of the hospital; I found it therapeutic, being surrounded by life that exuded beauty in green—until I lost the vibrant hues of my sight. The colors kept getting washed out every time I blinked. So I didn’t blink, but then it only made profound that something wrong was happening because then, I lost the outlines of the shapes. Then the whites. The grays. Then it was all black. I was in denial that time, and I thought “Oh, I fell asleep. Better open my eyes now.” But they were open. I touched them to confirm. They were. I screamed, and even if I couldn’t hear it, I knew it was primal, a bestial bellow that shredded my throat raw. I screamed his name over and over and over and how much sorry I was for leaving him and that this was karma. My nurse pulled one of my arm and wrote something across my skin with her fingers. “It’s okay,” I felt the word said. “Am I going to die?” I voiced using muscle memory. “No, it just means we’re close to curing you. Try to remember happy things that involved darkness.”

There was plenty of those.  _Teeth tugging ears. Gasps punctuated by moans. Rough hands tracing the outline of my body. Tongue and lips traveled across my skin like I was a territory he needed to explore. They brushed mine, then went to the sharp edge of my jaw, to the soft slope of my neck, to the hollow of my clavicles. Gentle. Then **VICIOUS**. He then touched and kissed everything fervently that I thought my skin would burst. Even though he wasn’t asking a question, I was answering yes. His lips and tongue marked me on my chest, my tummy, around my navel, and down, down, down. _

_I threw my head back and gasped._

_I was delirious._

_And then it was war, not because of how we clung to each other as if it was our last day, but because how there was a winner. It was him who begged in the end. For more or for mercy, I had no idea, but I gave him both. I always won._

But there was a different memory of me being in darkness. _I was blindfolded. A hand was on my hand, guiding me through the hallway of our home. I might have stepped on him three times in five steps—I might have done that purposely because he knew how I hated darkness. I wasn’t sacred of it—I have so much rage for it. Just like how I was so angry at the one living in him. Anyway, that night, I saw nothing but a faint orange glow illuminating through the gaps of my blindfolds. I smelled a hint of smoke, but the aroma of wine was stronger in the air. A classical music in the background made everything so formal, and when he said I could remove the blindfold, I inspected the place that gave off elegance in every corner._

_This wasn’t their living room. The walls were blanketed in glittered maroon cloths that could have been easily mistaken as streams of blood. The ceiling presented a collection of glass crystals clinking at each other as if they were already sharing a drink within themselves. The table, the only decoration in the room, was set for two. Roses bloomed at the center of it, guarded by two glasses of candles with flames as steady as they could be. As if they readied their whole existence for this night. There were also the wine bottle, the wine glasses, the plates, cutlery—but it was Evan who shone the brightest. He was in a suit, in polished shoes, but those weren’t the things that mattered._

_It was his eyes; they were more radiant than the candlelights and the chandelier. He smiled, and I returned it, ready to joke about how dramatic the date was—but he went down on one knee and opened a small box for me to see._

_His smile didn’t waver—in fact, it widened. Now, you see, it was hard to amuse Evan, because he was always serious and worried even though he never showed them most of the time. So to see him this ecstatic and to think that I was the reason for it sent a different kind of warmth inside my chest. I wasn’t expecting words; I was ready to say yes even though he wasn’t asking. (It becomes a habit, I guess.) But then he cleared his throat._

_“All my life, from childhood up to adulthood, I was reserved. I saw all emotions inconvenient so I shut them all down. I had these walls so high even I couldn’t climb up. They were incredibly sturdy that my parents, my friends, my past lovers couldn’t bring them down any longer. Then came you. Not only you are full of emotions, you are also nosy. You drive me crazy. And crazy destroyed the walls. You start seeing me for what I am and what I hide and loved me despite. You’re the only one who never gave up on me. And I guess that is a valid reason for me to ask you this._

_"Will you marry me, Jon?”_

_I pulled his face to mine, and I only let go of it so I could answer, “I will, Evan. I will over and over again.”_

When I was in the hospital, I always held the ring to my chest, and I made it my anchor to the things I could get back once I got through the procedure. Blind, deaf, tasteless, I was still holding on for dear life. Someone thought me Braille in the hospital, and my family never left me. Until the day I have all my senses back.

But even though I’m healthy now, I still touch the ring, for courage maybe. 

The house is the same as if I stepped on this pathway just yesterday. The curtains are drawn tight. The door is closed. The garden is still tended. The sky dims. Rain falls on to my head, down my shoulders before they reach the ground. My heart hammers. My mind rushes. I am not ready for this. What will I say? That I was selfish? That I am sorry? Does he want me back? Does he still love me? Does he is still await for me? I should have known this isn’t easy, and that—

The door opens. I am greeted by cold brown eyes. He bears no expression, as if he was expecting me to be in this spot this time of the day. He’s still the same, but something in his gaze is missing and I am aware what it is. By then, I have no words to give, because I know the flowers have lied. Evan looked like himself: clean-cut, shaven, built. He looked like someone has been taking care of him.

Something in me broke, snapped, shattered—it leaves me wishing the same walls Evan had before he met me. Because that will help in this kind of pain. I have tears once more, but thank God it is raining. I pulled the ring out of my finger, walked close to him—but not too near to smell his scent, not to near to not resist the urge to peek if someone else was occupying his couch. 

But shit. Did I want to.

I am glaring at him, not because I am angry, but because if I showed any kind of soft emotion, I’ll break down. I hold the ring out for him. I make sure I am still outside the house, still under the rain cloud, but close enough for me to see his indifference clearly. It feels like my heart is getting peeled inside me.

He looks down on my palm, and looks back to my face. He doesn’t say anything, but I hope he does. I hope he throws me away from his path and tell me names I deserve to be called. 

“Take this back.” I say.

He lifts his arm and opens his palm. My lips tremble, but I drop the ring there. I step three paces back, but I can’t turn away.  _come on stupid feet, walk the other way around!_

When they don’t, I resort to pain. “Punch me.” I mutter.

“What?” His eyebrows lower, tone annoyed. 

“I said punch me." 

"Why?”

That was it. The way he said why. It sounds like he would listen, but he would not care. Like what I had in my tone before, there was a finality there. And I fucking hate myself for the choices I made.  “BECAUSE I AM A SELFISH PRICK WHO DESERVES TO BE RAINED DOWN ON WHILE BEING BEATEN INTO PULP. AND I RATHER YOU DO IT TO ME TO LESSEN MY FUCKIN GUILT. COME ON! PUNCH ME.” I growl at him, tears and rainwater traversing the same path.

And I didn’t know I need that pain. That punch. I just want it and hope that it will overwhelm the hurt in my chest, because it is tearing me apart to see Evan over me. 

“I will not punch you.”

“Please,” I clutch my chest, wrinkling my clothes. “I need other pain other than the piercing one here.” I hitch the cloth using my fist only for it to slip from my grasp and snap back to my wet chest. I was hopeless. “I’m sorry for leaving you, Ev. Had I known you couldn’t…if-if I had known it would be like this, I would never have left.” I would spend the last two years of my life with him had I known we’d end up this way, that I would look at him in the eyes and see how he lost feelings for me. 

My wrists press against eyes; breaths come through gnashing teeth. I don’t know why I’m still there when he doesn’t want to hurt me, but my feet just won’t listen to me. 

Lighting slashed the sky, and thunder rumbles so loud I almost missed  _it._

“Get in, Jonathan.”

I look up at him with shock, as much as I want to hear the softening of his voice, it isn’t right. I shake my head violently. “Don’t do this to yourself, Evan. I know you are angry, so be angry at me. Hurt me. I don’t want any other else. I’ll leave after. I promise.”

He sighs, a lock of hair falling onto his forehead. “I was angry at myself, at first, for not being enough because I thought you left me for someone else. But I am angry at you now because you still won’t tell me why you left me.”

I can’t tell that to him; it would make him feel bad for thinking the worse of me, and to witness it happen will be another heartbreak. Or am I being selfish again? 

I don’t know. I don’t know anymore—

“Jonathan.” I snap my gaze back to him. “I said get in. You cannot afford to be sick again.”

I blink. I open my mouth to ask questions, but I see him soften. “I know why.”

He knows. Evan knows. What happened to me. What happened to us. Relief floods me, and I don’t realize the strength I need to keep myself standing until my knees are buckling under me. Evan was fast and he catches me with his hands clutching both of my shoulders. I shiver to the warmth he emits. He lifts me and I wrapped arms around him, for balance or for affection or for a little bit of both, I don’t know. The only important thing is he is holding me—I am in his arms. I am in my world again. With little strength, I bury my face on the curve of his neck and spoke. “I’m sorry, Evan. I was scared to see you blame yourself. I was scared I can’t push through the procedure if I keep seeing you bear the guilt. I should have trusted you—us, that we could do it together. I apologize.”

He caresses the back of my head. A time too long passed before he spoke. “No secrets from now on, okay, Jon?”

I nod against his shoulder.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” I whisper against his skin.

“I promise, too.” He says. 

“Do you have someone now?” I ask.

“What do you think?”

“I think you do.”

“You’re right. I have someone. I have you.” I hug him tighter, suppressing the sob of relief, but I have no fight in me now to keep my emotions, so I let my shoulder shake, my tears to flow.

“Shhh, Jon.” He hugs me tighter. “Welcome home.”


	6. Firefighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the moodboard Alfa-Angel (my dear wonderful friend I'd die for!) did for an event in the discord server we're both in. <3 Here's the moodboard. :D
> 
> https://alfa-angel.tumblr.com/post/183428350910/h2o-vanoss-firefighter-moodboard

Jon couldn’t move when the fire truck swerved to the corner near where he lived. He was already sweating a lot even though the wind surged against him as he dangled at the vehicle. All his coworkers had been aware that the place of the fire was near where he lived and he had appreciated the extra rush they spent.

But none of those had calmed his shaking hands.

Please. Please. Not my house. Evan is there. Cake is there.

That was a prayer of his since they left the station. He had jumbled the words the longer he gripped the ladder of the fire truck, but his worries didn’t get overpowered by his sense of duty. Jon was practically unfit for this task today–he was already too emotional as the fire truck traversed the street towards his home. The black bubbles of smoke bursting into the night sky and the orange illumination against it just gave him more anxieties.

His heart completely stopped when the driver slammed the brake as they reached the front of his porch.

His house, his home for ten years, was burning.

Tears dropped from his eyes as his legs automatically moved towards his home, getting faster as he went. He heard his friends screamed at him for running from protocol, some even tried to stop him, but they failed. Jon reached the front door, which seeped out gray smoke.

“Cake!” He called his dog’s name and walked by the window and tried to peek there, but there was nothing but thick canopies of fire and smoke. “Evan!”

But no sound of life called back.

The heat was so extreme against his face that he felt like his head was getting pressed from all angles, and the smoke was so black it was noticeable against the navy night.

There was an explosion inside, and he heard glass shattering. And in between both, so faint he could have been wrong, there was a bark. From inside the house.

It was Cake. It had to be Cake.

Jon himself didn’t know what happened. His body moved on its own despite the screams of objection by his incident commander. With a hazy mind, he slammed his shoulder onto the door. It took him just twice before it snapped from its hinges, probably from adrenalin or the door was just too damaged from the fire. The latter wasn’t a good possibility.

Jon leaped to the nearest wall and stayed close to it, he then crouched low. His eyes scanned everything, head snapping to any movement that caught his attention between the smoke. He was already heaving coughs, the thick ashes choking him. The heat scorched him, too,  even though he guaranteed that he was away from flames. All his knowledge from his work were forgotten by his mind but not his body. He was on his instincts now.

His brain was just hysterical as he did it.

“Cake! Evan!” Even his voice was too thick and foreign to him. There was shuffling, but he couldn’t determine where it was coming from. He was getting weak, too, but still, he forced his mind to think deep. The rooms were supposed to be locked, except for the guest room. It was for Evan to rest in as he volunteered to watch Cake. So the only place Evan would be was the living room, the bathroom, or the guest room.

But the noise earlier felt near. Was it his imagination? Sinking close to the ground, Jon crawled across the floor and headed to the living room. As he went across, he heard how his house was getting destroyed—the ceiling was creaking and was about to give, the windows were exploding one by one, and the carpet was having less and less space to crawl on.

“Cake! Where are you, my girl?” Jon coughed, his eyes tearing up from the sting of the smoke. But he forced his eyes open as something wet touched his knuckles. When he looked, a snout was suddenly onto his face. It was Cake! All dark and ashy, limping too, but completely alive. Still lively with her tongue out!

She staggered closer towards him and licked his nose. “Good girl.” He pet her, his eyes tracing where she came from. And there just behind the kitchen counter, there was a limp arm, palm up.

Jon’s eyes widened, and his feet scrambled against the floor as he tried to run fast to the man. He got to Evan and saw the trace of blood on his forehead. He was pale, his mouth slightly open. He was unconscious. But breathing. Alive. Not for long if he didn’t do anything.

“Evan,” he tapped the side of his face, but he didn’t respond. Jon gathered him in his arms and pressed his lips on the man’s temple, not being able to hide his feelings. “I got you. I’ll get you out of here.”

With Cake leading, he carried Evan close to safety. It was hard for him because he had to be mindful of the two more lives—he had to check if Evan’s clothes were caught on fire or if Cake was pushing herself too hard. At some point, his knees buckled but it was a good thing that they were so close to the front door—his fellow firemen saw them and dragged them out of there.

The moment they hit his lawn, the roof caved in and fell inside. Dusts puffed out of the open windows and doors, sending people into another fit of coughing. But Jon was just focused on Evan settled on the grass, still unconscious. First aid responders were already beside him. No need for Jon to get close because he too had his own injuries that needed attention.

But he still found himself crawling on all fours towards Evan.

“Oh, Evan,” Jon muttered and held the man’s hand. “Hold on. Please hold on for me.”

Evan’s hand gave a weak squeeze, and Jon snapped his head to his neighbor’s face. Evan’s eyes were still closed but his breath fogged the oxygen mask, his lips muttering something. Jon wiped his own tears and leaned in to listen.

“Jon, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jonathan shook his head, brushed Evan’s hair away from his forehead, and kissed the spot above his eyebrow. He knew Evan wouldn’t remember all these when he woke up, but Jon still answered. “I’m just thankful you’re alive. You scared me back there.”

“I did?”

“Hmm.”

Cake jumped into Jon’s arms as they watched the medics transferred Evan into a stretcher and brought him into the back of the ambulance. Jon made a promise back there, while they were in danger.

If they lived, he would confess his feelings to Evan. If that went well, if by some miracle Evan felt the same way, Jon swore to spend his life giving his neighbor his full love and attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I'm a member of a BBS shipping server, and I want to share it with everyone here because it's been awesome since I joined! The fandom is so alive in there! Like I get to see amazing fanarts and fanfics. ^_^ They are also very kind and welcoming, and my being introvert didn't hinder me from having great conversations because people in there are awesome and supportive! Here is the server invitation: https://discordapp.com/invite/3nmMMgU
> 
> Or if that doesn't work, here is the tumblr page of our server: https://bbsshippingpirates.tumblr.com/ (you can see the server invite button below the picture <3)
> 
> I'm semi-active in there but I'll always come when you tag me! <3


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